


Foul Play

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Next-Gen, Post-War, Prompt Fill, past Dolokhov/Helene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: Dolokhov tries to explain some things to his son.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Foul Play

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

Anatole is looking at him with something that only barely resembles comprehension and Dolokhov feels the old rage rise up in him, demanding that he tear the world apart. He’s old enough – has been for years now – to know that will do little good. But he doesn’t know how he is to explain to his eleven-year-old son why people look at him the way they do; why other children tease him or whisper behind their hands. He’s a friendly and outgoing boy and can make friends easily, all things being equal, but there is the rub – things are never _equal._ Children are most cruel at the age when they begin the transition from childhood to youth and they happily repeat the vile things their parents say. 

Dolokhov doesn’t think he will ever be able to burn this conversation out of his mind, no matter how much he tries. 

_“Why did you hit him?”_

_“He called me a bastard.”_

__Somehow, he hadn’t considered that Toto is old enough to know what that means. But he has to grow up eventually, and perhaps Galina is right that it’s unhealthy that they never talk about his mother.

She had been wrong, however, when she had told him that they should come to Petersburg for Christmas to humor Prince Hippolyte – take pity on him, rather. _This_ was all it led to. 

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

Dolokhov shakes his head and beckons for the boy to come closer. Anatole cautiously walks from the middle of the study and around the desk. _He looks so much like his mother._ The thought still catches him off-guard sometimes, even after all these years. And when he makes that face of regret and contrition, the slight pout and the puppy eyes, he looks like— _like Anatole—_ like his uncle. “Look at me.”

Anatole meets his eyes, a little hesitantly. Dolokhov wonders what the boy’s made of all this – the story of his and Helene’s love, of the fact they had never been married, of even the watered-down fraction of what Dolokhov could explain. He shouldn’t have to explain these things to his son when he’s still a _child._

“Sometimes,” he starts slowly, “people will say terrible things to you. Often, they will be wrong, but sometimes they will – technically – be right. That doesn’t make the things they say any less terrible or any less worthy of a response. You should always stand up for yourself.” Anatole’s expression begins to relax and brighten. Dolokhov wants to embrace him more than anything in the world in that moment, but instead says, “But sometimes, it will do more harm than good. Do you understand?”

Anatole shakes his head. 

Dolokhov remembers himself only a few years older than Toto is now – a disaffected adolescent whose entire world was shattered on a misty summer morning with a single pistol shot. He had fought and lashed out in every way he could at the former friends he felt had betrayed him, at the world that, as he suddenly found out, only ever favored the rich and well connected. He also remembers the shame of having conspicuously out-of-season coats and too few cravats and no coach or even horse of his own, and, even worse, the way those things _mattered._ “Nothing about this world is fair and it will eat you alive if you step out of line too far. You need to choose your battles carefully and know when you have a chance of winning.”

“What should I have done instead?”

Dolokhov shakes his head again. “Maybe exactly what you did. I wasn’t there. But you got caught and told off, did you not?”

“Yes—but he ended up with a bloody nose _and_ a talking-to as well.” Something about the way Anatole straightens his shoulders and tilts his chin up in defiant pride makes Dolokhov laugh. 

He reaches out and pulls Toto into an embrace. Anatole clings to him. “I’m proud of you,” he says quietly against the boy’s temple. “Just try to not get caught next time.”


End file.
